Ballroom as opposed to rock-and-roll
Is the dance where you're in full control.
You spin, you whirl, you slide, you glide
Leaving your partner mystified,
But with no option but to blindly hope
Your muscled arms will adequately cope,
But wondering what she'd have in store
Were they to deposit her upon the floor.
So both of us don't end up on our backs
I whisper to her, "Trust me, just relax."
This bossiness would elsewhere cause a riot
But now she is unusually quiet.
Her murmur as I step upon a shoe
Still indicates the hell she's going through.
Some say the moves should be well-learned, exact;
To me I'm on the stage, it is an act,
A chance to show my nimbleness close-up,
As for the steps, I make them up.
Those modern ladies dining at the Ritz
Used to its glamour and its gilded glitz,
Observing our most creative waltz
Would not know genuine from false.
Provided you are smooth, you back is straight,
Your look is masculine, you dominate,
You confidently smile, and furthermore
You don't hit others as you cross the floor,
Envying women give you one more glance
And sigh to partners, "Boy, can those two dance." And after tango and similar kerfuffle
They sway with their men to a round-the-room shuffle.
They'd hoped for real dancing to keep themselves trim
But it looks like they'll have to rely on the gym.
We let our hair down and in public enjoy it.
It's great to dress up once a year and Savoy-it,
To feel we're one up on, well who? Who can tell?
Probably men who could buy the hotel.
But who are the suckers, the guys over-eating
Or us on the dance-floor, puffed out, over-heating?
They with their paunches and cardiac diseases
Or me with arthritis and creaky old kneeses?
While they smoke cigars and sip their last tipple
Yours truly is waltzing to" end up a cripple.
And as we go home on the Number 9 bus
I reflect, "Who's the smartest, the fat guys or us?